His Apprentice
by SnapesLolita
Summary: This is in response to the WIKTT challenge, "A Deeply Horrible Person." Snape is a jerk, and torments Hermione during her apprenticeship. Not SSHG romantic relationship. -COMPLETE-
1. Chapter One

Author's Notes: Hello, everybody! Of course, I don't own and I didn't create Harry Potter or anything you might recognize. That's JK Rowling's business, not mine. I would appreciate any reviews (nice with the flames, please). I left the ending a little open for future development. Read and enjoy.

Hermione Granger gave up trying to explain her decision. When she told Harry and Ron, she remembered, the room was silent for three full minutes until Harry opened his mouth,

"But…why?" He seemed to have a hard time getting out the final word, but Hermione knew what he was thinking; she had obviously lost her mind. But Hermione knew that this was the course she wanted her life to take, and now it was just a matter of explaining it to the people she cared about, but who could never understand. She took a deep breath, immediately formulating an in-depth analysis of the rationale behind her position.

But when she let the breath out all she heard herself say was, "Because…because he's brilliant. And it's my decision." As an after thought she added, "You don't hear me complaining about you two wasting your lives playing for the Chudley Canons, do you?" The last part of the sentence was a little high pitched, she knew, and for a moment she could feel herself shrink back. Her eyes glanced down, toward her shoes, but then she decided that if she truly believed she had nothing to be ashamed about then she didn't need to act this way. She raised her head and looked Harry in the eyes. She willed him to understand, but in the end he simply shrugged and looked at Ron, who was still gaping at her. Harry, glancing at Ron's expression, elbowed him in the ribs, and he promptly shut his mouth. After that discussion there had been a tacit agreement among the friends to never bring up the subject again, however, as graduation approached, it weighed heavily on Hermione's mind, and even she began to doubt herself.

"And now, for a few remarks by our Head Girl, Miss Hermione Granger." Dumbledore turned from the podium in the Great Hall and smiled benevolently down at her. She blinked up at him, momentarily taken aback by her surroundings. She glanced around at the other graduates, all of them with expectant and somewhat fearful faces, and found Harry and Ron. They smiled at her, and hesitantly, she smiled back. She gathered the parchment on which she had written her closing remarks for the year and made her way to the podium. They were the expected remarks on "Grabbing the future!" and "Embracing our destiny, which this fine school has prepared us for!"

When she told herself the truth she found that she was somewhat disappointed with the speech. Her own mind began to wander during her speech, which flowed automatically from her mouth. She felt her eyes drifting over to Snape, who was sitting at the end of the head table. His eyes drilled into hers, refusing to blink. Nervously she shifted her focus away from Snape and back to her parchment, but she didn't really see it. She knew what was coming after the festivities, and though it held the promise of excitement and discovery, she knew that it would not be easy.

He sought her out after the formalities had ended and the recent graduates were mingling on the green lawn, exchanging contact information with each other and taking pictures with family and friends. She was standing with Harry, Ron, and her parents. They were talking animatedly, leaning in toward each other, laughing, and occasionally patting each other on the back. Snape's lip instinctively drew into a snarl. How he detested being witness to these personal intimacies. Was there no need for decorum in this vulgar world? He briefly thought of withdrawing back into the shadows and waiting for a more opportune moment, but he knew that the sooner this was done, the easier his life would be. Inwardly, he smirked at the thought. Yes, his life would be considerably better, but hers wouldn't be.

When he walked up to the small group of her friends and family, all talking ceased. Hermione's father had foolishly attempted to introduce himself with a rather loud, "Hello!" which had utterly failed to sway Snape to become more sociable. Instead, he stared at Mr. Granger until he withdrew the hand he had extended and stared down at his shoes. His gaze moved over to Hermione, who was looking up at him with a faint feeling of fear playing at the back of her mind.

"Miss Granger." The words slid out of his mouth, as though coated with grease. It sent a shiver down her spine and she felt herself standing a little straighter. "Please, come with me. There is some business we must attend to immediately."

Hermione knew it was a command and not a request. The pleasantry was merely meant as a cursory acknowledgment of her graduated status. However, Hermione knew not to believe that there was any real courtesy offered in his comment. His eyes bored into hers, insisting that she quickly extract herself from her tangle of friends and family and to follow him. She felt reluctant to leave, but knew this was only the beginning of her path that inevitably followed him.

He led her to a small room off of the Great Hall. The small room was barren, containing a wide and deep fireplace, which was empty and cold, and a plain wooden table that was dented and scratched. On the table Hermione could see a single sheet of parchment and a fine, expensive looking quill. The quill's point looked especially sharp, and Hermione could not see a pot of ink anywhere in the room. As she stared at the quill, she heard Snape clear his throat and she looked up at him. Raising an eyebrow in annoyance, he swept his hand toward the parchment, seeming to offer it up for her inspection. Hesitantly, she moved toward the parchment, picking it up in her hand. With one last glance at Snape, whose eyebrow hadn't lowered, she began to read:

Contract for Supervisory Apprenticeship in Potions I, Severus Snape, Potions Master of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, of my own free will, being not under the influence of any persuasive force, whether magical or muggle, do accept Miss Hermione Granger for a supervisory apprenticeship in potions for a period lasting no more than four (4) years, provided she adhere strictly to the following guidelines and strictures: 

Hermione Granger, hereafter referred to as "the apprentice" shall complete any potions work assigned to her by Severus Snape, hereafter referred to as "the Master." The apprentice shall also provide willing and able assistance in any work the Master deems necessary to further her training.

The apprentice shall be open to any inspection deemed necessary by the Master at any time.

The apprentice shall refrain from any communication, both oral and written, regarding her work with the Master in order to protect his developing work.

If the Master should find the apprentice remiss in her duties, he may punish the apprentice according to the laws outlined in the Master and Apprentice Accords of 1382.

Upon satisfactory completion of this apprenticeship, the apprentice shall be awarded the position of Potions Mistress.

I, Hermione Granger, do solemnly swear that I am entering into this contract, which I understand to be magically binding, of my own free will, being not under the influence of any persuasive force, whether magical or muggle, and affirm that I understand all the rules and strictures of the above contract.

Sign:

Witness:

Hermione read the contract through several times. Her eyes stopped at numbers two and three, uncertain if she felt entirely comfortable with what they might entail. But she shook her head, certain that she had nothing to worry about. After all, the contract was merely meant to authorize the apprenticeship so that the Ministry of Magic would have a record of its occurrence and therefore there would be no doubt of her position, once she had completed her apprenticeship.

She knew that all of the professors at Hogwarts, and certainly at all of the other wizardry schools, had undergone this same process, though no one would speak of the apprenticeship. It seemed to be a taboo subject, which Hermione could somewhat understand. Who knew what breakthroughs had occurred when a Master and apprentice had been working on a potion, or spell, for years? During the days of Voldemort's first and second risings, it would have been a definite liability to advertise that you were working on a new potion that could permanently disable the Deatheaters, and maybe Voldemort himself.

Feeling an increased sense of resolve course through her, she put down the contract and picked up the quill. She looked around for an inkwell, unsure if she should ask Snape for some ink. When she decided to risk it and ask for an inkwell, Snape, seeming to anticipate her question, pointed at the contract and said, "Simply sign it. The quill will provide its own ink."

She noticed a small smirk playing at the corners of his mouth, and again she hesitated. Trying to maintain the resolve she had enjoyed only seconds earlier, she grabbed the quill, placing the sharp tip on the parchment, and began to sign her name. Instantly she felt a surge of pain in her right arm. She stopped, still gripping the quill in her hand, and pushed back the sleeve of her robe. What she saw shocked her and caused to look up at Snape in astonishment. The beginning of her signature, exactly what was on the contract, was being engraved into her arm with each movement of the quill across the parchment. Snape smiled, though there was no pleasantness emanating from his eyes, only cool pleasure.

"This is standard practice, Miss Granger. Your signature will remain on your own flesh until the completion of your apprenticeship. When I sign as witness, that signature shall also be engraved upon your left arm. I do believe that those responsible for developing the contract wish to make the apprentice continually aware of her…priorities."

Hermione blinked, looked back down at the parchment, gritted her teeth, and finished signing. She handed the quill to Snape, and through the haze of pain she was aware of his quick signature drilling itself into her left arm. She blinked her eyes, willing her mind to clear and focus on what was happening. She felt the blood drip down her arms, and she fervently tried to ignore it. The color was draining from her face, and she was beginning to feel slightly sick. Her hands shuck slightly from what had just occurred and she quickly clasped them in front of her, in case Snape should see how she was responding to having her flesh carved twice in one afternoon.

Snape whisked the contract away, carefully folding it before placing it within a pocket of his voluminous robe. Hermione watched as he also pulled out a long thin crystal vial filled with a deep red viscous liquid. He removed the stopper and a distinctive poof of thick black smoke mushroomed out of the vial.

"For your first assignment as my apprentice, you will assist me in testing this potion I have been perfecting. You will determine its composition, various properties, and anything else you can gather from your experience with it. I expect a full report on my desk by 9 'o clock tomorrow morning. Do you understand?"

Hermione nodded, feeling both apprehensive and honored. Only moments into her apprenticeship and she was being asked to analyze an entirely new potion! She would be the first to know everything about this potion! She felt her smile, anticipating the pleasure of being the first to know.

"Where should I begin, sir?" she asked, feeling the excitement in her voice.

"By drinking it, of course." Hermione felt herself growing nauseated. It was one thing to analyze a potion in the comfort and security of the lab, and a complete other thing to ingest an unknown substance. With the memory of the contract still fresh within her mind, she reached out and took the vial from Snape's now outstretched hand. She took a long look at the liquid in the vial, noting its color, thickness, and the now hazy smoke that clung to the opening of the vial.

She forced herself into a bright smile that did not reach her eyes, and said, "Well, bottoms up!" She tossed the vial's contents into her mouth, swished them about noting the flavor and texture, and then swallowed. Triumphantly, she handed the vial back to Snape.

"There is definitely the heavy presence of dragon's blood, which would explain the deep red color, as well as the smoke. However, there is something interesting in the after taste. Asphodel, perhaps? Maybe nimblewood? Hmmm, interesting indeed." Her tongue played against her lips, trying to gather up the last remnants of the potion.

"Yes, very interesting. But I would get quite a bit more detailed than that. You now have ten hours to live. And do not expect me to give you the antidote, as I have yet to determine what it may be, though of course I have a hypothesis. Through your analysis it is to be hoped that you will discover a usable antidote. You may have access to my laboratory and the restricted section of the library. And remember, at 10 'o clock tomorrow morning I expect to see either your full notes, or your corpse. To produce neither would be a definite violation of your contract." He delivered his explanation easily, as if he were explaining the composition of a simple polyjuice potion. But Hermione was staring at him in wide-eyed horror.

"You…you poisoned me! How could you poison me!" She sounded indignant, but inside she couldn't help but feel slightly impressed. Hadn't she learned to only drink things that had been under her own supervision from Moody? But still his reasoning escaped her. "I don't understand," she continued, "Why would you want to poison me? Don't you need me as an apprentice for four years? Surely, this is a joke." She said it mainly to comfort herself. It had to be a joke, a little Master/apprentice humor. But she had never known Snape to joke.

Snape's face instantly drew into a snarl at the implication that he did not mean what he had just said. "You wanted this, now you have it. What, did you actually think I was some kind of tortured soul that you could coax into eating from your hand? Stupid girl. You may have succeeded in drawing every other professor at this school into compliance with your wishes, but let us not forget who is in charge in this arrangement. Now, at least attempt to prove that you have some kind of vague intelligence and find me my antidote."

He wheeled around on his heel, strode toward the door and left with a loud and resolute BANG! Hermione was still gaping, flabbergasted by what had just occurred. Looking at her watch and realizing that she would be up all night trying to figure out the antidote that she would need to save her life, she quickly fled the room to the dungeons, where she did not hear or see Snape the entire night.

10 'o clock rolled around, unveiling a bright, cheery summer morning, and a thoroughly exhausted, but still alive, Hermione Granger. She trudged through the night, resolutely attempting potion combination after potion combination. The first concoction, an ill-advised mixture of zedoary, powdered bicorn and liquefied kokam led to an episode of extreme vomiting that was only repressed at the last moment by discovering a store of anti-vomiting potion in a small wooden cabinet in the corner.

She tried to write off the failed mixture as nerves, and was only partially relieved to discover the store of potion as a possible indicator that she was not the only one to have ever encountered this rather embarrassing situation. The second mixture (Angelica, wormwood, nigella, and crushed spider) unleashed a case of boils while the third mixture (sorrel, Devil's claw, fenugreek, and leech) inexplicably turned her bushy brown hair a resilient purple. All the side effects of her possible antidotes subsided after a few hours, but Hermione's nerves grew more frayed. As the hours clicked by, Hermione paused to take stock of the situation. She obviously wasn't thinking clearly enough. She needed to breathe; she needed to clear her mind.

Leaning against the tabletop, she stared into her cauldron, blessedly clear of the fourth mixture (tamarind, crushed pixies' wings, and asphodel) that had caused her tongue to momentarily grow past her knees. She had already isolated the ingredients of the poison: dragon's blood, nimblewood, pandan leaf, comfrey and pokeweed. Staring at the list, she focused on the last two ingredients. Why did they sound familiar, yet distant and out of reach? She had been to the restricted section of the Hogwarts library four times already, looking into the properties of each ingredient. There had been plenty of information on dragon's blood, nimblewood, and even pandan leaf, but the only mention comfrey and pokeweed had been: "muggle culinary herbs." Concise, and meaningless. Staring at the last two ingredients, her mind replayed their entries in the wizard herb books she found in the library. There was something she was missing, and she knew it. Then the word snapped awake in her mind. Muggle. She raced to her room and frantically dug up the cookbook her mother had insisted on giving her for graduation.

Toxic Culinary Herbs

Comfrey ISymphytum officinale)

While some amateur herbalists in the culinary world claim that common comfrey is safe in small doses, at least on study recommends against using common comfrey internally. Comfrey contains high concentrations of the liver-toxins pyrrolizidine alkaloids.

Pokeweed or Pokeroot (Phytolacca Americana)

Though this herb is a culinary delight when cultivated and prepared correctly, it is largely considered extremely toxic and should not be handled. Pokeweed contains high concentrations of the liver-toxins pyrrolizidine alkaloids.

Now, Hermione understood. The dragon's blood had concentrated the toxins in the pokeweed and comfrey, while the nimblewood had masked their effects. Her liver had been wasting away this entire night, without her feeling a single side effect. It was utterly brilliant. Slipped into an enemy's drink or food, who would ever suspect poisoning? It would appear as a simple case of liver failure, probably written off as too much alcohol or an undiagnosed liver condition that had gotten out of hand. Hermione had to admire Snape's genius, plainly evident in this potion. Smiling to herself, she began to write out her antidote.

Snape stared down at the stack of papers on his desk. They were carefully and lovingly organized, with charts and diagrams skillfully drawn and headings distinctly dissecting the paper into logical sections that flowed eloquently one after the other. With one sweep of his hand he brushed aside the majority of the paper, pausing to glance over the conclusion. He picked up the conclusion with his long fingers and brought it close to his face. Barbery, milk thistle seed, wormwood leaves and flowers, burdock root, chicory, dandelion, and dragon's blood. He ignored Hermione, who stood ready for any questions, though she looked thoroughly exhausted. It was obvious that she had spent the entire night concocting the antidote.

With a resigned sigh, Snape turned to her, "This is…acceptable, though rather elementary. I am disappointed that it took you so long to find an antidote. I had been led to believe that our resident know-it-all would instantly seize upon the solution, and would then gloat about it for weeks to come."

Hermione froze. She had not expected praise, but she had not expected this, either. She accomplished exactly what he asked her to accomplish, complete with a full report that stressed the inventiveness of the muggle-derived poison. In her report she outlined exactly how each ingredient of her antidote would counteract the ingredients of the poison. He didn't even look at the majority of her analysis! She realized that what matter to him were results, not the effort it took to achieve those results. The effort simply did not matter. It was what he expected.

Sighing inwardly she decided to ask what she believed to be an innocuous question, "What time shall I report to the potions laboratory tomorrow?" Hermione saw his eyes lock onto hers when the word "tomorrow" passed her lips, and immediately she knew she had done something wrong.

"Tomorrow? What kind of damn fool question is this?" he hissed the words out at her and they slithered about her sleepy head. "You are working today and everyday. There is potions work for you to complete that I, your Master, believe to be vital to your training. Madame Pomfrey requires two batches of pepper-up potion, and the Headmaster has requested six batches of shrinking serum. I expect the pepper-up potion to be completed before you retire for the night. The shrinking serum I expect to be in the simmering stage before you leave this laboratory. Should you require food, there is a bell on the third shelf by the fireplace for the house-elf. I shall see you in my office at 7 'o clock sharp tomorrow morning. Now, go complete your assignment, and do try not to bother me, girl." He sat down at his desk and began shuffling papers. Hermione knew there would be no arguing; the conversation was over. Drawing herself up, she left Snape's office, determined to both complete her assignment and to refrain from crying.

It was a drained and weakened Hermione that dropped into her bed around 1 'o clock in the morning. She needed to shower and change clothes before sleep, lest the residue from the myriad of potions that were now all over her clothes seep into her skin. Her bed was lovely and soft, indeed heavenly after the long day and night she just endured. She drew the feather comforter up to her chin, sinking into her pillow and her dreams.

_She was floating over the lake, watching the giant squid lazily propel itself toward the lake's south shore. She looked up at the sky and realized it was the same deep red as Snape's new poison. Looking over at the trees, she saw that they were not growing leaves, but instead had books sprouting out of their branches. Smiling, she started to glide over to a copse of trees that were growing large leather bound editions of what appeared to be Shakespeare. Leisurely, she stretched out her arm and pulled down an edition of _King Lear_. She floated down to a promising patch of bright blue grass, where she stretched out on her stomach and began to read. She was absorbed in Act Two, when she heard a rustle in the trees. Slowly, she closed her book, carefully marking her place with the book ribbon. She pulled herself up and looked over at the stand of trees where the rustling had come from. When she heard it again she decided to investigate. Walking over to the trees, she saw only a flash of his black robes before her mind melted into her worst memories._

Hermione sat upright in bed with a jolt. Sweat coated her body and she was shaking. She had just relived every incident of torment she experienced as a child. The children teasing her at her muggle grammar school, mocking her bushy hair and bossiness, the incident with the mountain troll during her first year, her teeth growing beyond her cupped hand and fleeing from Snape and his hurtful remarks, her desire to prove herself and the disappointment that accompanied each cutting remark about her thirst for knowledge.

She re-experienced every emotion that was intertwined with each memory. Reaching up to her eyes she felt hot tears pouring over her cheeks and onto her comforter. She realized she was breathing too quickly and shallowly, and she struggled to take deep breaths to calm herself. Reaching for her watch, she blinked to clear her eyes of tears and read the time. 3 'o clock in the morning. All of her memories had unraveled in two hours. Holding the watch in her hands she knew that she would not see any more sleep tonight. Sighing, she pulled herself out of bed and headed for the bookshelf, pointedly ignoring the Shakespeare collection.


	2. Chapter Two

She arrived the next day, and each following day, at exactly 7 'o clock in the morning. Her days were spent laboring over hot cauldrons that bubbled and simmered with any number of potions. She regularly went to bed at 1 or 2 o'clock in the morning, and even then she was given only a slight reprieve before Snape began probing her memories. She understood this to be part of clause two of her contract. His mental inspections, however, were growing increasingly invasive, probing her feelings concerning Harry and Ron, the guilt she still carried for surviving Voldemort's final attack during her seventh year, her increasing resentment toward Snape, but most crushingly, her sense of isolation.

She could not speak or write anything about her work with Snape, as per clause three of her contract, and she had learned the consequences of violating that particular clause the hard way. Once, roughly two months into her apprenticeship, she decided to approach Dumbledore about her treatment. Surely, she reasoned, there was something improper about her apprenticeship that should be reported to the appropriate authority. She had marched into his office, head held high, ready to admit to Dumbledore that she had made a mistake, that she hadn't calculated well enough, hadn't researched thoroughly.

But the moment the word "Snape" passed her lips, she found her voice closed off, as though her throat was a doorway and the door had been slammed shut. She tried to speak, but she only succeeded in flaying her arms about and moving her soundless lips. Dumbledore had gently placed his hand upon her shoulder and ushered her to the door. He knew why she had suddenly become mute, and he smiled knowingly down at her, handing her a lemon drop before closing the door in her face. It had taken her a week to regain the use of her voice.

She tried again to reach out to someone, this time Harry, who was far away in Wales training with the Chudley Canons. She reasoned that if she didn't mention Snape by name that she should be able to communicate something about her situation to Harry. She scrawled out on a piece of parchment an idiotic paragraph about the weather, her living quarters, her parents, and the food the house-elves provided during the summer. Drawing up all of her courage, she decided to get to the point of the letter. She began to write, "He really is a horrible person, I never realized…" But the words quickly disappeared as her quill moved across the paper.

She flipped the paper to see if the words had simply bled through, but she knew this was not the case. Clause three had struck again. The next morning she learned that everything she had attempted to write about Snape appeared on a sheet of parchment in his office. She was forced to listen to Snape's extended rant on the necessity of secrecy, and would she kindly stop attempting to break possibly the single most important clause of the entire contract? She was forced to test several batches of varying polyjuice potions as punishment for her transgressions. But the worst part had been Harry's reply to the asinine letter she decided to send him anyway: Didn't she have anything more interesting than the weather to discuss?

Falling into bed after another long and draining day, Hermione wanted to fight the urge to close her eyes, but found herself incapable of doing so. Soon enough she saw the robed figure approach her in the Great Hall, which in her dream was inexplicably filled with squawking parakeets. She could hold on to her dreams for increasing periods now, but she always succumbed to his pull, eventually falling into her memories.

She was resisting with all of her strength on this particular night, as it had been an exceptionally demanding day spent gutting, chopping, slicing, grinding, and preserving various creatures that arrived on her table in various stages of death, and life. The robed figure had to move closer to her, closer than he had ever moved before, and soon she found him standing directly in front of her. He reminded her of the dementors of Azkaban, but she was not filled with cold. The figure's arm rose up and his sleeve slipped down to reveal a shadowy version of Snape's long fingers. They were beckoning her to follow him, and she knew that it was a summons she could not resist.

As she drew closer to the figure, she felt her dream slip away, aware of the encroaching darkness that was soon to swallow the much more inviting parakeets. Before it reached the point of total darkness, Hermione reached out and grabbed the arm of the figure. This time she would hold on. There was a scream unlike anything Hermione had ever heard, and all was black.

She found herself in a dark, foreboding manor house she had never seen before. Momentarily confused, she looked around for some confirmation of her surroundings. Looking at what appeared to be the main door of the house, she saw an ancient looking engraving that provided her answer: Snape Manor. She was inside his memories. Frenetically, she looked around her, trying to absorb it all before she lost control. She saw a young boy sitting on the edge of the long yard, patiently dangling a rat from its tail over a small puddle. She started to move toward the boy, but was quickly pushed forward into another memory.  
Now she was standing in the same room in which she had signed her own contract. Only now a large red-faced man was towering over a skinny sallow young boy whose long black hair hung in his dark eyes.

Hermione could see blood dripping from his fingertips onto the floor, and knew she was watching Snape as an apprentice. Scenes of his apprenticeship flew by her: he was scrubbing cauldrons clean with a brush, he was dissecting rats, he was on the floor crumpled into a ball as the large red-faced man's foot swung back to kick him again, he was nursing a badly swollen black eye with a piece of dragon meat, he watched the fire consume his carefully prepared potions analyses. Scene after scene whizzed past Hermione, and when it was finally over, with Snape receiving his Potions Master certification from the large red-faced man who also handed him a bottle of fire whisky and a new belt, she found herself floating alone in the empty black. She was alone. The figure had gone away. She melted into the first complete sleep of her apprenticeship.

"Get to work, I don't care how tired you are, else I'll take advantage of the corporal punishment clause of the contract." He snarled at her as she walked through the door to his office at precisely 7 'o clock. After witnessing the horrors of his own apprenticeship, Hermione had felt slightly more kindly toward her Master, but that quickly stopped when she heard his morning greeting.

She looked at him, confused, "Sir? I don't understand. What corporal punishment clause?" He rolled his eyes at her before replying, "Clause four, you halfwit. Please tell me that you actually did read the contract before you signed. The Master and Apprentice Accords of 1382 allow for the corporal punishment of apprentices who…overstep their boundaries. I believe you know to what I refer. Now you may either apologize and accept your punishment, thirteen batches of invisibility serum, or I shall have to enact the corporal punishment clause." Snape looked disdainfully down at her, as if she were an ill-trained dog.  
To her surprise, Snape's venomous attitude no longer surprised her. She had come to accept him as a truly despicable person.

Her reaction to him had shocked her, naïve as she was, she had believed that if a person did right than there had to be something right about that person. Now, she considered that there was nothing good and redeeming about Severus Snape, and that he had turned his back on the Deatheaters not out of a sincere desire to do good, but in order to play both sides and see who came out the winner. Still, she reasoned with herself, this was a professional relationship that needed to be maintained, which meant she needed to hold on to some kind of politeness.

"There really is no need to be this way. I'm more than willing to do my best to be a good apprentice without all this." Her hands swept out to encompass the room, as if to say, "This entire, crazy ordeal. All of it. It isn't necessary." But her arms fell to her sides when she looked at the expression on Snape's face. Hermione had never seen such complete and utter rage expressed so flawlessly on a human face before this moment. It took her breath away.

"I see that I have no other option. We will have to enact the corporal punishment clause. It is time you learned your place in this business. You insolent little fool! How dare you break into my memories! They were never meant for you!" Hermione heard a note of hysteria in his voice that surprised her. She knew he was losing his control, and that she would pay the consequences. His fingers gripped her right arm in a tight unbreakable clasp, and for the first time in a long while she thought about the carvings on her arms. They bound her to him, and there was nothing she could do to escape now.

Holding her tightly, he flung her out of the office, and she landed roughly on a worktable, knocking over several cauldrons in the process. She could hear various ruined potions pop and sizzle around her, but a strong hand pressing into her back prevented her from rising up. There was the distinctive sound of Snape unlocking and rummaging through a drawer near her right leg. She heard something large and clunky emerge from the drawer and slap hard onto the table next to her. She could make out something that locked suspiciously like a well-worn belt. The belt disappeared from beside her, as did the hand that had been pressing into her back. Instinctively, she wrapped her arms around her head, preparing for the first strike. She waited.

The seconds stretched into minutes, and all she could hear was her own heavy breathing. Slowly, she uncoiled herself and twisted her head to glance behind her. The sight of Snape, arm raised and ready to strike her with the belt, frightened her, making her wish she could dive under the table and run for the door. But she froze when she looked more carefully at his face. His eyes, usually open and alert, were staring at something far over Hermione's prone body. The belt slipped out of his hand and hit the ground with a soft thud and clank. He lowered his arm. He absently began rubbing the area where Hermione knew his signature had been engraved into his flesh. Still staring far away, Snape withdrew into his office, quietly closing the door. Hermione slowly rose off the table and stared at the office door, unsure of whether to follow him or remain in the laboratory. The door remained closed and no sound came from the isolated office.

Gradually, Hermione began to take in the condition of the laboratory. The batches of polyjuice potion that she had been constantly brewing were now splattered across the walls, tables, and floor. Unthinking, she began to move toward the mess. She began the automatic process of cleaning up the mess, but her mind was not on her work. It was focused on the man behind the closed door, who she doubted she would see anytime soon.


End file.
